


ginger ale and hail marys

by oh_my_stars_and_sky



Category: Clone High
Genre: Canon Compliant (Ish), Character Growth for Cleo, Discussion of Abortion, Everyone on this show is bi prove me wrong, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Himbo JFK, JFK Respects Women, JFK is so in love with joan you cannot convince me otherwise, Light Angst, Making Out, Unplanned Pregnancy, abe sucks joan deserves better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_my_stars_and_sky/pseuds/oh_my_stars_and_sky
Summary: After what happened at prom, it's a process for Joan and JFK figure things out. She's too in her head to see what's right in front of her, but he's too in love to give up that easily.
Relationships: Joan of Arc/JFK (Clone High)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 223





	ginger ale and hail marys

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! So this is mostly canon compliant and meant to be read as happening after the events of the finale (minus the freezing part). The only thing is, I aged them up so they're seniors instead of sophomores. I may be writing a second part to this but I'm not entirely sure. In the meantime, enjoy!!!

Joan didn’t know how to feel happy. She’d spent so long alone, so long longing, so long being disappointed over and over that now, with nothing standing between her and happiness, her first instinct was to scramble for some reason this couldn’t work, couldn’t be true.

  1. JFK was an asshole.



This, strictly speaking, wasn’t true. To the untrained eye, JFK might seem rude, but in truth, he was just dumb and a touch immature. That aside, he was actually the person who had been kindest to her through all of high school (maybe ever?). So that reason was no good.

  1. She was in love with Abe.



Was she, though? Abe, who ditched her, Abe, who belittled her, Abe, shallow and callow and selfish? She had been. She’d been in love with him. It had been a tenet of who she was, despite his cruelty to her, in a way she realized now was very unhealthy. But was she still in love with him? She tried to picture him in her mind. It used to be easy to imagine the two of them intertwined, but now, all she could see was him scoffing at her a thousand times, too uncaring to see himself hurting her. She used to feel yearning at the thought of his face. Now, she felt nothing at all.

So she’s not still in love with him, then.

  1. ????



Having exhausted her extensive list of reasons she and JFK couldn’t be together, she had no choice but to accept that she would need to actually confront her feelings on the subject. She stood, stretching and looking at her bleary-eyed self in the mirror before doubling over and puking on the floor.

Maybe accepting her true feelings was taking a toll on her gut.

“EW! Did you just yak? That’s like, totally gross. Did you get super trashed or something last night?”

Cleo’s voice was grating as always. Joan was counting down the days till she could leave for college and be done with sharing a tiny room with her.

“No, I’m just a little sick to my stomach, that’s all,” she grumbled, fetching the paper towels and Pledge from the bathroom across the hall.

Once she was done cleaning, she brushed her teeth and slicked her hair down into her signature bob. Right on cue, just as she was done, the doorbell rang. It had been two weeks since prom, and each day like clockwork JFK had been over in the morning, picking her up and driving her to school. 

“Good morning, Joan. You, er ah, looking smokin’ hot! Just like every day,” he quipped, leaning in the doorway as she grabbed her bag.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. “You too.”

He looked at her, a huge dorky smile playing his lips, before startling, seeming to remember something, and pulling a small, worn book from his pocket and thrusting it in her direction nervously. “I, er, found this, and I thought you might like it. I know you’re a broad who's into books!”

She took it and turned it over in her hands to find a beautiful, ornamental copy of _The Tempest_. She smiled, and he seemed to sigh with relief before smiling back.

“Thank you,” she said, slipping it into her bag and taking his hand, walking out to his car.

************

“JOAN! Hey!! Hey, Joan!! I was wondering, um, what are you up to later? Because I was thinking we could do...I don’t know, a thing you like? Together. Alone together. After school today.”

Joan scrunched her eyebrows together, trying not to hear Abe saying everything she would’ve killed to hear two weeks ago. She’d been sitting under a tree on the school grounds, eating lunch with JFK, watching the wind move through the trees, when Abe had marched up to them.

“Can you, er, give it a rest? Can’t you see you’re making the lady uncomfortable?” JFK tightened his arm around her.

“Why do you care? You’re just a man-whore looking for some slut with low self-esteem to bang! But Joan is more than that!!”

“Abe, shut up!” she cried, grabbing her bag and storming off, crying and once again feeling bile rise in her throat. She barely made it to the girls’ bathroom (the one right by the door that stayed propped open near the back of the school, the one that always reeked of weed and sex) before throwing up her lunch and then some, tears streaming down her face the whole while. 

She stayed there, sobbing on her hands and knees, until someone kicked open the stall door in front of her. To her horror, she looked up to see Cleo, taking a long drag off a blunt, looking down at her, amused.

“Again? Gross. You really must be sick or something.” Holding the blunt in her mouth, she crossed to the sink, wet a paper towel and returned to kneel in front of Joan, dabbing at her chin with concentration. 

“There,” she said after a moment, tossing the rag aside and taking another long drag. 

“Thanks,” she said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “What-why did you do that?”

Cleo shrugged.

“Maybe it’s the weed, maybe I’m tired of fighting over boys I’m not even that interested in,”

“Oh,” Joan repeated, standing up and running a nervous finger through her own red hair. For a moment, she wanted to apologize to Cleo for the whole situation, Abe and JFK and the puke and the fighting, but by the time she got the nerve up, the moment was gone. 

“Yea,” she said, flicking the blunt apathetically. “Now let’s get out of here, this place smells like puke.”

******

“Joan! You, er ah, ran off earlier.” JFK bounded up to her locker, standing in front of her. She forgot, sometimes, how much taller than her he was until he was right next to her, and she had to tilt her head up to meet his eye. It made her blush, just a little, not that she’d admit it.

“Sorry, I just. It’s hard to be around him when he acts like that, after being such an ass for so many years, and I feel bad no matter what I do about it.” She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Can I hug you?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically nervous.

She was taken aback by the question, but nodded, and revelled in the feeling of him enveloping her small frame in his strong, warm arms.

“Let me, er, drive you home,” he murmured against her hair. She tightened her arms around him and hummed against his chest.

“WOAH. JFK and Joan are totally having a moment in the middle of the hallway you guys!! Everyone come look!”

“Shut up, Gandhi.”

*****

“Good to see you without vomit all over your face,” Cleo drawled, sprawled out on her hot pink comforter as Joan pushed open the door to their shared room.

“Thanks,” she said. 

“What were you crying about?”

Joan winced.

“It’s not a big deal, just...stuff with JFK and Abe, I guess. I’m sorry,” she added before she could let herself chicken out, “I’m sorry about everything that happened with them and us fighting and stuff. I-”

“It’s fine,” said Cleo, tone neutral. “Like I said earlier, I really don’t care anymore.”

“Cool,” said Joan.

“Cool,” said Cleo. “So are you going to Marilyn’s party this weekend?” 

“Since when are you and Monroe on speaking terms? I thought you guys had a falling out over,” Joan winced again, “over who JFK was sleeping with?”

“Oh, that’s old news. Besides, you of all people should know it’s not like he’s interested in either of us anymore. So, bygones are bygones are bygones. You should come.” 

“Come?”

Cleo looked up from the magazine she was flipping through. “To the party, nerd. It’d be cool to have you there.”

“Oh,” said Joan, “Okay. Yea, maybe I’ll go.”

“I could help you pick out something to wear. I won’t dress you up like a bimbo this time, I promise,” offered Cleo, grinning. “Although your boobs did look great.” She looked quickly back down at the magazine.

“Thanks?” she said, sinking into the little pink armchair in the corner of the room. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Cleo hummed. “I’m trying something new.”

“Oh,” said Joan. “Cleo?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you think they’ll let us go to college?”

“Who knows. Life as a clone is like that.”

“Do you ever think about running away? Being something...else? Somewhere?”

“No,” said Cleo pointedly, “I like it here. I’m in charge, and people know me and like me and listen to me. Big fish, small pond. I like that. But I can understand why you might not feel the same way.”

“I want to be a lawyer, I think.”

“Goodnight, Joan.”

******

That night Joan snuck out to meet JFK at the park down the street from her house. She shimmied down the drainpipe and up the block until she saw him, leaning against his car, weary eyes, broad shoulders, and hair unruly, like he’d just been sleeping on it. As he saw her his face split into a grin.

“There she is,” he called out, and she picked up her pace, throwing her arms around his neck. He picked her up in his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, and swung her around. She giggled, burying her face in his chest. 

“Don’t put me down,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Okay,” he said, and he swept her up so he was carrying her bridal style, and lumbered on into the park, bringing her to a secluded old gazebo by the small creek. 

When they got there, he plopped down on the bench, and she moved so she was straddling him. Feeling bold, she kissed him gently on the cheek. He turned an adorable shade of pink. Although they’d fucked on prom night (tenderly, lovingly even), physical intimacy between them since then had been rare moments full of the intense, nervous energy of an affair in its early stages. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, looking down at him, smiling. He looked up at her, eyes wide and full of something she couldn’t place (awe? wonder? love?). He took her other hand in his own much larger, rougher one and placed it on his cheek, sighing contentedly.

“You’re, er, skin is so soft,” he whispered.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” she said, voice hushed. 

“We don’t, er, have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said, reaching a hand up to cradle her face.

“What if I want to kiss you?” she asked, smirking.

“Then, er, I’d say, please,” he replied, voice shaking slightly, “Please kiss me, Joan of Arc.”

She closed her eyes, and slowly pressed her lips to his, chaste at first. Just the gentle loving touch of their two mouths sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth ever so slightly, deepening the kiss, running her fingers through his hair. His hands found purchase on her hips, grounding her as she felt herself get more and more lightheaded from the ecstasy of kissing him, of being kissed by him. 

They broke apart for air, lungs burning, giddy. He looked at her like she was the whole world all at once, and smiled at her like she was the stars, like she was beautiful beyond comprehension. He kissed her forehead, and then on her nose, and then on each cheek. She giggled, gazing at him, feeling warm and safe.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she said. 

“What part of it?” he asked, moving to kiss his way down her neck. 

“I don’t know, that this feels so...real, and good, and right? That you’re interested in me at all?”

“Interested in you at all?” he scoffed, pausing in his ministration to hold her face in his hands. “Joan, I’ve, er, only really had eyes for you for a long time now. Sure, I, er, fucked around a lot, but none of it meant anything. I’ve never felt what I feel when I look at you before. Not even with Cleo. Even when I was with her, something about you stuck with me. You’re so, er, tough, and smart, and beautiful.”

“Really?” she asked, her heart in her throat. 

“Yes. It was really confusing, cause I thought you weren’t really meant to care about broads like that. But I get it now. I really do. And if I don’t get it all right at first, I’ll, er, work on it. We can take things as slow as you want. I just, er, I want to be with you, Joan. For, er, real.” 

“No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” she said quietly, feeling the thump of her heart in every inch of her body. 

“Then they’re even dumber than me,” he said with a smile, “because you’re the prettiest gal I’ve ever seen, and the best woman I ever met.”

“Oh, Kennedy,” Joan sighed, content for what might have been the first time in her life. “You’re so much more than you get credit for. You’re the best looking guy in town, but you’re also so kind, and thoughtful, and honest. Being with you makes me feel safe..”

“Good! I, er, I want you to feel safe! And happy!”

She laughed, and kissed him again. Two birds chittered to one another in a tree nearby.

“Hark!” he said, pointing up to them, “They’re, er, lovebirds. Like us.”

*****

That Friday, she and Cleo went through their respective wardrobes, looking for something to wear to Marilyn Monroe’s party the next day. Cleo was insistent that Joan broaden her horizons and wear something other than black. She’d dug out a silk dress so light blue that it was nearly white, and declared it perfect. Joan, for her part, was having an unexpected issue trying it on.

“What do you mean, it won’t zip up? It’s big on _me,_ and you’re definitely smaller than I am.”

“I won’t go over my tits,” called Joan from inside the bathroom.

“What?” Cleo asked, pushing the door aside. “Here, let me help you, suck in.” But try as she might, the zipper would not budge. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

“My bras have been a little tighter than usual this week actua-OW! You’re squishing them!”

Cleo gave up, and regarded Joan with an odd expression.

“Have you thrown up any more this week?”

“Three more times,” she said, furrowing her brow.

Cleo sighed, and dug around in a drawer, producing a thin plastic package. 

“I’m not judging you, or suggesting anything, and I won’t tell anyone, but I really think you should take this.”

Joan turned white as a sheet. “You don’t think-”

“Think about it. Throwing up? Bigger tits that are also sore? Crying all the time? Seems like it would be worth it, just to check.”

Joan bit her lip and took the package, her hands trembling.

“I’ll wait outside. You don’t have to tell me the results if you don’t want to.”

Joan looked at herself in the mirror, a thousand thoughts running through her mind and not a single one of them good. She felt like she was going to cry again, like someone had sucker-punched her. She had her whole life ahead of her; she wanted to go to college, to become a lawyer, to live a full life. Would any of that be possible, if she was pregnant? And things with JFK were so good, but so young still. She didn’t want him to have to suffer at all on her account. Would he even want to talk to her anymore, if she was pregnant? 

Setting her fear aside, she opened the little package.

Five minutes later, she was sitting on the bathroom floor, rocking back and forth nervously while the test processed. She felt so _stupid_ , and so scared. They’d used a condom, but she wasn’t on the pill or anything. She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly. Sighing, she got up to check the test.

Two lines. Positive.

There it was, reason number three for her list of reasons things won’t work out between her and JFK.

“Shit,” she said, and kicked the garbage can over. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“It’s going to be okay, Joan,” called Cleo, muffled from the other side of the door. “Let’s go to the party. You can wear whatever you want. It’ll take your mind off things. ”

*****

The party did not, in fact, take her mind off things. If anything, it made her more certain that she wanted to curl up in a dark hole somewhere and stop existing. The second they got there Cleo disappeared upstairs with Marilyn, leaving Joan to hide in the kitchen.

“No, no beer for me, thanks,” she said for the tenth time to the eighth person. “I just, uh, don’t want to get drunk tonight, that’s all.”

“JOAN!” came a familiar voice from across the crowded, smokey room. Shit. Her pulse quickened and her stomach flopped as she saw JFK make his way across the room to her. “Some party, huh?”

She didn’t say anything, just stood there, panicking in a room she didn’t want to be in, full of her peers. Her vision blurred a little at the edges, and she felt like she was going to pass out.

“Glad to see you here! I was, er, thinking that you and I could maybe go walk around the park again!” He looked like a Labrador, full of excitement and energy and she felt like nothing but dead weight.

“No,” she said, pushing him away, adrenaline and fear pounding through her body, turning to leave, “no, trust me, you don’t want to be with me, JFK. Just. Just go. Find someone who can make you happy.”

“But Joan-”

“Goodbye, JFK.”

She ran. 

She ran as far as she could, all the way home.

“Is that my lovely, innocent, pure, undefiled, young foster granddaughter, Joan?” crooned Toots.

“Yes, Toots, it’s me,” she said, sniffling, balling her hands into tiny fists, fighting to keep her emotions out of her voice.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

******

That night Joan prayed for the first time in a long time. She’d always felt ashamed that she couldn’t connect with God the way the first Joan of Arc did; no voices ever offered her guidance, and that night was no exception. But she felt helpless, and it seemed worth a shot, so she knelt best she could in her bed and reached for anything she could remember.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” she began, fumbling her words, “Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.”

She didn’t sleep well that night. 

*******

What followed was the most miserable week of her life. She could barely muster the nerve to get out of bed, every waking moment consumed with the peach pit growing inside of her and what to do about it. Abe was avoiding her, which was a welcome change from trying to get in her pants but was certainly not helping, as she didn’t really have many friends. She and JFK hadn’t spoken since she left him at the party. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone since then, really.

Her one saving grace was that Cleo seemed to have held true to her word and not told anyone, as people hadn’t been giving her any more weird looks than usual. But even without the jeering, it was a hard thing to process.

Pregnant. She was pregnant. 

When the school bell rang that Friday, she decided she didn’t want to go home. It wasn’t that she wanted privacy, (Cleo hadn’t been around much that week anyhow), it was just that she couldn’t bear the thought of laying in her bed, hating herself for another afternoon.

She knew she needed to do something about the situation, that procrastinating was only going to make it worse, but she felt paralyzed. 

Instead of going home, she let her feet carry her down to the gazebo in the park where she curled up in a ball, hearing the quiet gurgle of stream. After an immeasurable amount of time, just as the sun was beginning to set, soft footfalls interrupted the sad haze she’d fallen into.

“Joan, I, er, need to talk to you. If you really don’t want to see me, I’ll respect that but I still want to be with you and I care about you and I think I’m in love with you but I have a confession to make.”

“I have a confession to make, too” she said, not meeting his eye.

“That night, when you left me at the party I, er, slept with someone,” he said, sounding nervous and downtrodden.

“That’s alright,” she said, sitting up to look at him. He looked worse than she’d ever seen him, with dark circles under his eyes and a heaviness to the slump in his shoulders. “I practically told you to do that.”

“It’s not just that,” he said, biting his lip. “It wasn’t a broad. It was a guy. It was a specific guy. It, er, it was Abe, Joan.”

“What?” she said, startled.

“I know, it was just, I don’t know, we were talking, and then next thing I know, we’re making out in Marilyn’s bed. I liked it, Joan, it felt good. But it didn’t feel the way it feels when I’m with you. I’m just so confused, because if I liked it then doesn’t that make me gay? And if I’m gay then why am I in love with you?” He sounded so genuinely confused and heartbroken. Joan patted the bench next to her and he sat down.

“You’re probably bi. I am, it’s not that uncommon.” she said, putting her hand on his leg.

“Bi?” he asked, sniffling.

“Like, into guys and girls.”

“That’s a thing?!”

“Yes, Kennedy.”

“Oh. Well then yes, I’m that. Glad that’s figured out! So, er, what did you want to say?”

Joan tried to be brave, but couldn’t meet his eye. 

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment he was silent, and then he slipped off the bench in one fluid motion and knelt in front of her. 

“Joan, I am so sorry you’ve been dealing with this alone. Is that, er, why you left the party last week in such a rush?”

She nodded, still unable to look him in the eye.

“Listen to me, Joan, this doesn’t change anything about how I feel about you. If you, er, wanna abort it, we abort it. If you wanna give it up for adoption, we give it up for adoption. If you wanna keep it and raise it and be together, we keep it and we raise the shit of it and are the best parents of all time. The point is, this is your choice to make, and no matter what you choose, I’m gonna support you.”

For the first time in a week, she felt her lungs inflate with air.

“Do you mean it?” she asked, finally looking him in the face. 

“I mean it, Joaney baby, from the bottom of my heart.”

Later, much later, she lay in his arms in his bedroom. It was the first time she’d been in his room, and there was something very comforting about the baby blue of the walls, the soft down of the blanket, his arm wrapped around her waist. She allowed herself to feel, for one quiet moment, like maybe things were going to be okay.

*****

“I see you and JFK have patched things up,” remarked Cleo, perched on the windowsill smoking the end of a blunt when Joan arrived home in the early hours of the morning wearing JFK’s shirt. She blushed and nodded.

“So, I don’t mean to pry, but have you decided what you’re doing?”

Joan bit her lip and shook her head. 

“I could take you to Planned Parenthood, if you want. Just to see your options.”

“Is there one nearby?” Joan asked doubtfully.

“Yup.” replied Cleo almost curtly as she put out her blunt, hopping back into the room off the window sill. “I’ve actually been before, if I’m being honest. They’re really nice, everything’s very...professional and stuff.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “That would be really nice, actually. I really don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

There was a pause, during which Cleo sat down at her vanity, thumbing through a box of brushes.

“Listen, I don’t have patience for the touchy-feely shit. Be up and ready to go at nine.”

*****

That night she dreamt of him. She dreamt he held her, curled up in his arms, motionless, sitting on a blanket on a beach she hadn’t been to since she was a girl. Before her eyes a thousand suns rose and set, and thousand moons graced the sky, and he held her nonetheless, steadfast, warm, safe. Things washed up on the shore around them; plastic bottles, broken glass, pieces of furniture from the house she grew up in. Eventually, the water overtook them, the tides pushing and pulling above their heads, the beach becoming the ocean floor. And yet he held her still, kept her close against his chest. The water did not seem to impede her breathing. She wasn’t certain she’d been breathing in the first place. All she knew was the comfort of his arms, and it was all she wanted to know.

******

The Planned Parenthood was only a fifteen minute drive out of town. A very bleary-eyed Joan, clad in an oversized tee and shorts sat, curled up in the passenger's seat while Cleo, decked out in a full face of make-up as usual, drove. 

There were protesters. Joan shut her eyes, trying not to hear them screaming at her about Jesus and Mary and murder and dead babies. 

The woman at the front desk, who Cleo called Dawn, greeted them warmly and handed them some forms. The waiting room, a quaint space with succulents and magazines on a coffee table between a dozen or so chairs, felt like a timeless bubble to Joan. She thought distantly that she might be stuck there forever, looking at the young man with blue hair and the older woman doing crossword puzzles who were also waiting to be seen. 

“Joan,” called a young woman from the doorway to the exam rooms, and with an uncharacteristic pat on the back from Cleo, she was off. As the door closed behind them, the woman, a tall brunette with kind eyes named Dr. Marcy, directed her into a room.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen, hun. You’re going to go into the bathroom down the hall and take a pregnancy test, just to be sure. Once we have that done, we’ll do an ultrasound, to get an idea of how far along you are and what kind of services we could provide you with. You don’t have to see the ultrasound, if you don’t want to. Then, we’ll talk about your options, okay? Everything you tell us is confidential, we’re here to help.” She gave Joan an encouraging smile. Joan felt like puking.

One pregnancy test and ultrasound which she had declined to look at later, they had determined she was about 4 weeks along. 

“That’s good,” Dr. Marcy explained, “because it means we have more options. What are you thinking is the right path for you?”

“I don’t know,” said Joan numbly. Distantly, in the back of her mind, she could hear JFK saying _If you, er, wanna abort it, we abort it. If you wanna give it up for adoption, we give it up for adoption. If you wanna keep it and raise it and be together, we keep it and we raise the shit of it and are the best parents of all time...._

She closed her eyes and pictured herself with a child and JFK. She couldn’t quite admit it but something about the image of him holding their baby was incredibly evocative. It felt _right,_ it felt beautiful, it felt like something she wanted. But then she imagined going to law school, and she couldn’t shake a feeling of grief. 

She knew she didn’t want to opt for adoption. She didn’t think she could handle carrying a child for 9 months only to give it up forever. 

“Can you describe what the abortion would be like?” she asked. “Just in case that’s, uh, what makes the most sense,” she added hurriedly.

“Of course,” said Dr. Marcy warmly. “Since it’s so early in the pregnancy, it would be something called a medical abortion. We’ll meet with you, go over everything with you again. If you decide you want to have the abortion, you’ll take one pill called Mifepristone here in the office. This medicine ends the pregnancy. Then, you get to go home. You’ll get another pill called Misoprostol to take at home 1-2 days later. This medicine causes your uterus to cramp and bleed to pass the pregnancy. We will also give you some other medicine to help with side effects. For most people, the process takes around 5 hours or so, but it can take up to a day to pass the pregnancy. Then, you’ll come back here in a week or two for a follow-up appointment. ”

Joan nodded slowly. “Do I have to decide now?”

“Oh, honey, no. You call us whenever you’re ready.”

*******

That night she lay awake in bed, wearing JFK’s shirt. She liked the way it smelled and felt like him; it was comforting. 

“Cleo?” she said quietly.

“Yes, Joan?” called Cleo from the bunk below her.

“Thank you for taking me today.”

Cleo was silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something, Joan?” 

“Sure.”

“I’m only telling you this because I can’t stand you moping and I think it will help.”

“Okay.”

“Not because I want to connect with you or need to talk about it or anything.”

“Okay.”

“I had an abortion last semester.”

Joan sat up in bed, shocked.

“I had no idea.”

“No one did. I didn’t tell anyone. I-I don’t know whose it was. But I knew it just wasn’t the right thing for me, to have a baby. My point is, I made the choice that seemed best for me, and I’m okay. There’s no right or wrong here, all you can do is make a choice that feels right for you. Don’t ever tell anyone I said this, but I’m here for you, and so is that Kennedy moron. You’re going to be fine.”

Joan wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled. 

“Thanks, Cleo.”

“Now for God’s sake, go to sleep.”

******

Next Monday, she went out with JFK after school. They drove around in his Skylark, got milkshakes at the Knoll, and ended up at his place. She almost felt normal, listening to him explain how he thought Napoleon was a clone of Napoleon Dynamite, having no knowledge of any other Napoleon. 

It was incredibly endearing.

They parked in his garage, and he came round and opened her door for her, offering his hand to her. She took it, face flushed. He led her upstairs, into his recording studio. Popping open a mini-fridge, he handed her a ginger-ale and took one for himself. 

“I did, er ah, some research, and it said you might be nauseous a lot, so I got you ginger ale.” he said, proud of himself.

“Thanks,” she said, feeling herself smile. 

“So, er,” he began, pausing, furrowing his brow, “do you have any...idea what you’re doing? About it?”

She sipped her ginger-ale thoughtfully. “I don’t know, Kennedy. I think about us with a baby and...I can’t lie to you, I like the thought of it, of being with you like that. But I want to go to law school. It’s my dream, it's been my dream since I was a little girl to become a lawyer and help people. And I don’t know if I can handle taking care of a baby and getting my degree.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, stepping closer to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll take care of the baby. If, er, If you’re okay with that.”

“But JFK,” she said, looking at his big, kind eyes, full of hope, “don’t you have dreams? Isn’t there something you want to do with your life?”

“You’re my dream, Joan,” he said quietly, voice thick with emotion, “I’ve, er, wanted you as long as I’ve known you. It would be the honor of my life to be yours, to raise your children.”

They shared a long look, exchanging the things that couldn’t yet be said out loud with a loving gaze. She rolled up onto her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the month. He closed his eyes, moaning quietly against her lips. After a moment, he moved his hands to cup her lower back, deepening the kiss and holding her against him.

When they finally broke apart, he giggled, lifting her up in his strong arms, spinning her around. Joan had never known anyone as adept in the expression of joy as her Kennedy, and to see him so happy over her was almost overwhelming. She grinned, kissing his cheek as he carried her over to the couch against the wall.

Plopping down with her on top of him, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, sighing happily. Joan, however, wasn’t quite done with their conversation.

“But, Kennedy-”

“Jack.” he said, running his fingers through her hair adoringly. “You, er, you can call me Jack, if you like. Nobody does anymore but I think- I think I’d like it if you did.”

“Okay, Jack,” she said, face flushed, “babies are expensive. Law school is expensive. I have some money saved up for college, but I’m probably going to have to take out loans anyhow, and that’s not even thinking about-”

He cut her off, laughing. “My, er, music career has made me enough cash that we could probably have ten kids and still go to Paris every year on vacation. G-spot alone got me somethin’ like a hundred grand, and I was just a producer on that track. Don’t worry about money, Joan. Don’t worry about anything other than what you want.”

There was a soft moment of silence, where she slipped off his lap onto the couch next to him, folding her legs under her. 

“We’re so young,” she said finally. “What if, five years from now, you don’t like me anymore? You don’t like the person I’ve become?”

“Joan, we don’t have to get married or anything. I know we’re young, and if you decide I’m not the one for you, I understand that. I would still want to be a part of our kid’s life. I would still want to be a part of _your_ life.”

She smiled at him, took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, and took a deep breath. She felt, for the first time in a long while, like life might just be worth living.

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Comments are much appreciated!! Stay safe!!


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